Read Online The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) by Carrie Bebris - Free Book Online
Authors: Carrie Bebris
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expectations of any such attempt penetrating his vain mind.
She made one last, valiant effort to guide him, not for his own benefit, but that of the helpless infant now entirely dependent upon his judgment. “Boarding the child out would likely increase the pool of candidates.”
“We most certainly will,” declared Miss Elliot.
“We most certainly will not, ” said Sir Walter.
Though Miss Elliot’s vexation with her father was apparent, her tone was restrained. “We do not have space for an infant and nurse here, nor at our lodgings in Bath when we return.”
“The Elliot heir will not spend the first year of his life living with a family of such ignoble origins that they make ends meet by the wife’s nursing a passel of other people’s children like a common dairy cow. He will have his own nurse, in his own home, as did you and your sisters.”
Miss Elliot gestured about her. “Where is the nursery to be? This is not Kellynch Hall.”
Sir Walter sighed heavily. “I must speak to Mr. Shepherd about this alteration in circumstances. It was all very well for us to reside in Bath this past year, but now that I have a son, we should return to the ancestral Elliot home.”
Elizabeth hoped for everyone’s sake—most particularly the child’s—that Mrs. Harville’s efforts had proved successful, and that by the time Sir Walter’s servant collected the celebrated “Elliot heir,” the matter of hiring a wet nurse would be a fait accompli.
She had experienced enough of Sir Walter and his daughter; she wanted nothing more than to complete their melancholy errands and end this wretched day. Sensing that Darcy was of similar mind, she tactfully brought the meeting to an end. Sir Walter and Miss Elliot escorted them to the door, full of expressions of pleasure in having made their acquaintance.
And not at all overcome by grief.
Once on the street, Darcy offered his arm, which Elizabeth accepted as they continued up the hill. “That was certainly not the meeting I anticipated,” he said.
“That was not even the person we anticipated meeting.”
“I cannot say I feel improved by the acquaintance.”
“Nor I,” she replied. “I had pitied Lady Elliot for having drawn her last breath among strangers, but now I believe she found more sympathy in Mrs. Harville’s home than she would have known in her own husband’s. When I die, I hope you take more interest in the event itself than in the modifications it will impose upon your attire.”
“It does appear that the Elliots’ marriage was not a match of affection.”
“How could it be, with Sir Walter already deeply in love with himself?” Elizabeth knew that many people married for reasons other than romantic attachment—her friend Charlotte Collins offered a prime example. But even Mr. Collins would pause to mourn his wife’s passing before hastening to Rosings with the news.
“Did you notice that Sir Walter did not enquire into any particulars of his wife’s death?” she asked. “Whether her last moments were peaceful? Whether she died knowing that she had given him the son he so obviously wanted? His thoughts and words focused entirely on his connexions, his social status, his heir—as if the child had been created in a fine London shop and delivered by coach, not by a woman who died in the process.” She released a sound of disgust. “Sir Walter and his daughter seemed no more affected by Lady Elliot’s death than they would have been by a housemaid who quit her post after completing the day’s dusting.”
“Mr. Elliot might take the news more gravely.”
“Though Sir Walter does not wish for us to communicate any news to his cousin, I do feel that Mr. Elliot ought to be informed. Yet even Mr. Elliot—whatever his relationship was to the former Mrs. Clay, and for all his professions of concern—could not trouble himself to remain at the Harvilles’ during her travail, and gave us vague directions by which to find him. Do you
She made one last, valiant effort to guide him, not for his own benefit, but that of the helpless infant now entirely dependent upon his judgment. “Boarding the child out would likely increase the pool of candidates.”
“We most certainly will,” declared Miss Elliot.
“We most certainly will not, ” said Sir Walter.
Though Miss Elliot’s vexation with her father was apparent, her tone was restrained. “We do not have space for an infant and nurse here, nor at our lodgings in Bath when we return.”
“The Elliot heir will not spend the first year of his life living with a family of such ignoble origins that they make ends meet by the wife’s nursing a passel of other people’s children like a common dairy cow. He will have his own nurse, in his own home, as did you and your sisters.”
Miss Elliot gestured about her. “Where is the nursery to be? This is not Kellynch Hall.”
Sir Walter sighed heavily. “I must speak to Mr. Shepherd about this alteration in circumstances. It was all very well for us to reside in Bath this past year, but now that I have a son, we should return to the ancestral Elliot home.”
Elizabeth hoped for everyone’s sake—most particularly the child’s—that Mrs. Harville’s efforts had proved successful, and that by the time Sir Walter’s servant collected the celebrated “Elliot heir,” the matter of hiring a wet nurse would be a fait accompli.
She had experienced enough of Sir Walter and his daughter; she wanted nothing more than to complete their melancholy errands and end this wretched day. Sensing that Darcy was of similar mind, she tactfully brought the meeting to an end. Sir Walter and Miss Elliot escorted them to the door, full of expressions of pleasure in having made their acquaintance.
And not at all overcome by grief.
Once on the street, Darcy offered his arm, which Elizabeth accepted as they continued up the hill. “That was certainly not the meeting I anticipated,” he said.
“That was not even the person we anticipated meeting.”
“I cannot say I feel improved by the acquaintance.”
“Nor I,” she replied. “I had pitied Lady Elliot for having drawn her last breath among strangers, but now I believe she found more sympathy in Mrs. Harville’s home than she would have known in her own husband’s. When I die, I hope you take more interest in the event itself than in the modifications it will impose upon your attire.”
“It does appear that the Elliots’ marriage was not a match of affection.”
“How could it be, with Sir Walter already deeply in love with himself?” Elizabeth knew that many people married for reasons other than romantic attachment—her friend Charlotte Collins offered a prime example. But even Mr. Collins would pause to mourn his wife’s passing before hastening to Rosings with the news.
“Did you notice that Sir Walter did not enquire into any particulars of his wife’s death?” she asked. “Whether her last moments were peaceful? Whether she died knowing that she had given him the son he so obviously wanted? His thoughts and words focused entirely on his connexions, his social status, his heir—as if the child had been created in a fine London shop and delivered by coach, not by a woman who died in the process.” She released a sound of disgust. “Sir Walter and his daughter seemed no more affected by Lady Elliot’s death than they would have been by a housemaid who quit her post after completing the day’s dusting.”
“Mr. Elliot might take the news more gravely.”
“Though Sir Walter does not wish for us to communicate any news to his cousin, I do feel that Mr. Elliot ought to be informed. Yet even Mr. Elliot—whatever his relationship was to the former Mrs. Clay, and for all his professions of concern—could not trouble himself to remain at the Harvilles’ during her travail, and gave us vague directions by which to find him. Do you
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